


Standoff

by bethesdad



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masks, Mutual Pining, Rough Sex, Touch-starved bastards, just two dilfs having a nice time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27300169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethesdad/pseuds/bethesdad
Summary: Look, here's the deal. Gay cowboys? Nice. Gay cowboys in space? Even nicer. I am effectively starting this fic from a canon line in the episode and running with it in my own direction.- I'm not sure how many chapters this will be, honestly it'll depend on how people react to it and if folks want to see more. At minimum, 2 chapters. At max, however the fuck many.
Relationships: Cobb Vanth/Din Djarin, Cobb Vanth/The Mandalorian
Comments: 64
Kudos: 358





	1. Chapter 1

“Take it off.” His eyes weren’t visible and yet the marshal could feel that piercing gaze grinding its way through his thick armor, sinking right into his skin. That deep voice, the low rumble in his throat like a growl, the unwavering intensity; it crawled up his spine and to the back of his head, beckoning forth a chill and the fine hairs on his neck to stand. He maintained his resolve all the while, the only crack in his hardened shell being a hand clenching into a fist. 

_“Or I will.”_

Cobb’s breath caught in his throat a moment, only releasing from his lungs once he felt his heartbeat start to pound louder in his chest. There was something _else_ to that threat, a gripping and visceral reaction, but it certainly wasn’t fear. The marshal knew his own strength to be better than that. He wasn’t sure what it was, no fearsome sand person had ever struck a chord in him like that. To the mandalorian in front of him, however, the only wavering he’d seen was a brief pause, perhaps a glint in his eyes, but nothing more. 

The glass in his hand was brought to his lips, as if to take a drink though for the moment the glass remained still, waiting. Cobb scoffed and stifled a laugh, eyes breaking away from the stranger to look down at the blue booze under his nose. 

“Not even gonna buy this drink for me first, eh? Damn.” He retorted, eyes looking back up as those words were uttered. Now it was Mando’s turn to pause, reestablish his footing in this stand-off. 

Though Cobb couldn’t see the outlaw’s face under that shiny bucket of his, he could feel the uncertainty radiating off of him. Strong-willed badasses he could handle, sleazy businessmen throwing out bribes he could handle, weak but short-tempered adventurers with an easily bruised ego-- all of them, he could handle. This approach, though- well, he could still handle it, fact of the matter was just unexpected enough to knock him off kilter. Cobb had a feeling he wouldn’t see it coming, perhaps he took the low road in that regard. 

This was strategic. The goosebumps lingering along his arms and the back of his neck weren’t to be spoken of. This was strategic.

“Watch your language in front of the kid.” Again, Cobb’s breath got caught in his throat, this time for a different reason. His eyes darted to the child, hiding behind a pot as his guardian threatened a stranger dressed like him. He cleared his throat and looked back to Mando. 

“No one said this had to be in front of the kid,” Cobb fired his shot back quickly, sticking to his guns on the approach he’d chosen. He feared he might’ve chosen a worse path than he anticipated as the Mandalorian’s hand slowly, subtly drifted over his blaster’s holster. He finally took a sip from his drink and set the glass back down with a resounding thud. He clicked his tongue and sighed as the drink went down, shook his head, and set his palms flat on the table as he pushed himself up to his feet. “Alright, Mando, if that’s the way it has to be. Why don’t we take this outside, spare your kiddo a couple’a bad memories?” His eyes narrowed and a grin traced his cheeks, all the while his dominant hand strayed to his own hip. 

“He’s seen worse,” the Mandalorian’s fingers twitched with anticipation, “I’m fine right here.”

A bold choice, but one Cobb wasn’t about to deny for fear of being shot down with the slightest unprompted move. With that, their fate seemed sealed, contract signed. Cobb stared at the visor of his opponent’s helmet, hoping he was glaring right into his eyes. Out of his peripheral, he could see that hand hovering at the side of his belt, still as can be by now. He drew in a long breath, filling his lungs for what could be one last time. He slowly, calmly planted his feet in the right position, bolstering his resolve by making himself feel steadier, stronger.

The barkeep in the back watched with the same level of intensity as the two men staring each other down. He had faith in his marshal, he’d seen him succeed more times than he could count, but he also feared this stranger for the reputation he held simply by dawning his Beskar armor. He felt the need to hold his own breath, as if this room needed to be as dead silent as it could get. Nearby, the child climbed into the pot and sunk below it so that he couldn’t watch, though his large ears still stuck out above the lip of the pot. Tiny, worried coos could be heard as he awaited.

The shattering sound and the vibration racketing Cobb’s body struck suddenly and all at once. Though the world didn’t instantly go black like he thought it would. His body didn’t instantly go numb, he didn’t feel the laser burn through his heart. In fact, he could still see the room around him just fine, his body felt just as not-dead as ever, and as his wits came back about him he saw Mando bracing himself and staring out the bar window, hand away from his still-holstered blaster. The breath held in his chest pushed out as a heavy sigh and he let his arms hang loosely by his sides. The echoing sound of destruction continued on, and he became acutely aware of the world trembling under his feet.

He was grateful not to be dead but goddamn if he wasn’t irritated to see _that thing_ back again. Though right about now maybe he owed it a _thank you_ for buying him time, handing him an opportunity. He took a tentative step closer to Mando as the rumbling continued, earth cracking and sand spewing forth into the air out in the distance. Mando turned to look at him, stance stiff and alert. Even without a visible face to gauge a reaction from, he knew what the outlaw wanted to ask. He knew he was wondering why Cobb looked so calm now, albeit still concerned. 

He turned to look back at Mando, quirked a brow at him, and gave a nod of his head toward the bar door before he made his way just outside the entrance, standing on the porch to watch the shattering earth speed closer. Faintly, beneath the sound of the beast barreling forward, he could hear Mando’s footsteps against the wooden floorboards as he joined him. He glanced at him briefly, noted his posture already calmed, before casting his gaze back over the town. 

The townsfolk rushed back into their homes, dropping whatever task they busied their calloused hands with to escape the oncoming wrath. Cobb always hated to see so much fear in their eyes. He hated that there wasn’t a thing he could do about it even more. He and the Mandalorian at his side watched in joined silence as the beast arched its head above the sand, opened its teeth-laden maw, and swallowed a lone Bantha whole in an instant. As it sank back below the dunes and continued on its path, the marshal reached out a hand and set it on Mando’s shoulder, just as a quick pat. 

“Maybe we can work something out.” 

\--

Cobb and the Mandalorian struck what felt to them like a fair deal; Mando got the armor in exchange for helping kill the Krayt Dragon. After all, the only reason Cobb had become so fond of his cracked, faded armor was on account of it bolstering his ability to keep his town safe. Without that dragon around, he still stood a real chance at being an effective leader in a set of lower-shelf armor. He and Mando discussed a plan of action, although only briefly considering Mando’s disinterest in conversation. Cobb couldn’t help but wonder if he was always like that, just a part of his nature, or if there was a wall that could be broken down. 

Perhaps he’d get the time to grab a hammer and find out. He extended the offer for Mando to stay in his town, proceed on their quest to kill the krayt dragon in the morning. Naturally, having nowhere else to sleep for the night ‘less he wanted to drive all the way back to Mos Eisley, he accepted the offer. There wasn’t a fully-fledged inn standing in Mos Pelgo, limiting Mando’s lodging to a spare room in Cobb’s home. Or, at least, that’s what he was told. He was also offered free drinks over conversation, though that didn’t seem to appeal to him much. This was a business transaction, after all.

As the orange light of the evening faded further into the dark of night, the two men clad in Mandlorian armor retired for the evening. Cobb’s home was nice in comparison to some of the other structures in the town, but it was nothing remarkable. Humble, simple, but comfortable. Mando didn’t particularly mind; simple but functional tended to be how he liked it. 

Cobb let out a long, content exhale as he unlatched his chest piece and pulled it up over his head and off. Mando seemed to watch him as he did so, eyes following the armor as it was set on its own stand to rest. As he looked back to the marshal, he caught his eyes watching him. A smirk appeared on his face, and the Mandalorian took his cue to move his way past Cobb further into the home. The child’s pod followed closely behind. 

Mando’s eyes surveyed the main living area as he shouldered past his host, taking note of shelves lined with antiques, oddities Cobb has presumably collected over the years. He noted an old, powered down R2 unit tucked away in a corner, collecting dust. Safe to assume when a droid’s parts busted way out here, it could be quite the inconvenience to get them replaced. Maybe Cobb just didn’t care enough about poor Astromech to ever get it fixed. Maybe it itself was nothing more than a collected antique. No way to tell unless he asked, which he likely wouldn’t. As the bounty hunter’s gaze went from one corner to the other, he couldn’t help but notice just how much space there was. The room wasn’t particularly full, a bit on the empty side if anything, but there was enough to accommodate even a small family.

“Not a bad place you have. A lot for one person. You usually entertain guests?” Mando glanced over his shoulder a moment after he asked his question. Cobb exhaled sharply, amused by the quiet outlaw’s sudden interest in conversation. On moving to a new topic after he’d been caught staring.

The clattering of boots hitting the floor could be heard before quiet, softened footsteps followed after Mando. “Not often, no, but I like to be prepared. You never know when someone with nowhere to go needs a bed.” He caught up to Mando and matched his stride as they entered Cobb’s kitchen. “Can’t say you’re anything like my usual guests, but somethin’ new to break up the monotony is always welcome.” He smiled at the stranger hidden under his shiny helm, hoping to push the boundary of his title as _stranger._

“That’s pretty considerate of someone wearing a dead guy’s armor,” Mando shot back, tone flat and unemotional as it always was. It really shocked Cobb how much bite could be packed into words spoken so unceremoniously. 

Cobb just scoffed, chuckled under his breath, and proceeded to a liquor cabinet on the back wall of the kitchen. He tapped his pointer finger on the top of a couple bottles before landing on one, pulling it out as he said, “Look, out here you just do what you have to do to survive. Ain’t like I killed anyone to get this armor.” He spoke casually, as if Mando’s words didn’t dig right under his skin. He grabbed two glasses and set them before him, popping the cork off the bottle he’d grabbed with his thumb. “Besides, don’t you do a lot of that yourself, Mando?” He turned around to face his guest with two full glasses in hand. “Killing, I mean.” 

Mando didn’t move, didn’t finch. “Only when I have to.” After that, he watched as Cobb gestured to a seat at his round, carved stone kitchen table with one of his hands. Mando didn’t oblige. “Do we have more to discuss?” 

Cobb pulled a chair out from under the table by hooking a foot around the bottom of one of the chair’s legs, pulling it backward. He placed himself in the seat, put one glass before himself and the other on the opposite side of the table, by Mando. “Not particularly. C’mon now, why don’t ya sit? No harm in friendly conversation, you know. Should be clear enough I’m not gonna jump you, I put my guns and armor down at the door.” He noticed as the first thing Mando did was look back at the doorway, confirm that his blaster belt and armor were all there. Indeed, they were. Mando looked back at Cobb, at his widening smile. He drummed his fingers along the side of his armored thigh, lingering there a moment longer. Let out a sigh.

“Fine, guess it doesn’t hurt. The kid needs his sleep, though.” Mando pulled his own chair out and sat down, beckoning the child over and clicking a button on the lip of his carrier, causing it to snap shut. “There. All tucked in.” Cobb held in a laugh to his best ability watching that. This man didn’t seem to be the best fatherly figure in the world, but… he did seem to have enough care for the kid to make it work. Admirable, really. 

With the child put to sleep, Mando’s posture seemed to finally, even in the slightest, subtlest, hardest to notice way, relax. Cobb was quite the perceptive man and raised his glass to his lips to take a sip. He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair, hanging his free hand off the backrest. “So, is it true?” He let there be an intentional pause between his words, “Real Mandalorians never take off the helmet?” 

“Never,” Mando responded, almost instantly. He glanced down at the drink in front of him, then back up at Cobb. “Or at least not in front of people. I guess there’s a misconception that it _literally_ never comes off. Like the armor turns us into a droid or something.”  
  
Cobb let out a hearty laugh and shook his head, “What a conspiracy! Maybe people with that idea in their head are also convinced Mandalorians are all pawns of the Empire, some of the last remaining remnants.” He made a fluttering gesture with his fingers, as if he were telling a childish ghost story. Mando scoffed. _Almost_ a chuckle. “Really though, it does, y’know, take away some of your humanity in a way. Hard to feel anything from someone if you can’t see their face.” 

“I think that’s part of the point.” Again, it was funny how much power and downright sass could be packed into this man’s entirely deadpan tone. 

“Sure, sure… But if I were like you, a real Mandalorian and not a marshal walking around in a dead one’s digs, I’d start to miss the human connection. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Cause if I understand your people right, you never got enough of a chance to make connections to begin with to ever miss them.” A silence hung in the air after he uttered those words, a silence that quickly became heavy and tense. Cobb felt he may have overstepped a boundary for a moment, getting too caught up in conversation. 

Though, within a few more moments, Mando spoke up again. “You understand right, but only sort of. We do manage to form connections, some of us.” 

“Is that right?”  
  
“It is. The helmet should always stay on, though, that doesn’t change.” Mando’s posture stiffened as Cobb rolled his eyes, the smile on his face implied a more well-intentioned playfulness than actual criticism of Mando’s ways. 

“Have it your way, I guess,” He took another sip of his drink, a longer one this time. He set his glass down and stared at it a moment, idly turning it with his fingers and feeling along the grooves in the carved glass. “So… That being said… The armor stays on even you and a special someone, you know-”

Across the table, Mando seemed to adjust his posture. “You know what?”

“You know.” 

With a long sigh, Mando shook his head and drummed his fingers atop the table. _“You know_ you aren’t the first person to ask this.”

A small, curt laugh was made as Cobb continued to simply play with his near empty glass. “I kinda figured that. Doesn’t mean I don’t still want the answer.” 

“And what if I don’t give you the answer?” Mando’s answer in the form of a question, _that_ question, took him by surprise. All things considered, he fully expected a flat-out no, but that… That carried with it that same growl, that same intensity, as the threat he’d made on Cobb’s life earlier that same day. That question was a hand wavering over a loaded blaster, and again he could feel eyes on him even through the dark-tinted visor. This time, they dug into him deeper, and with a different kind of power. Now Mando had no intent to kill. No ill-will. But still, a strong and overbearing intensity. 

Cobb let another moment of silence hang between them. This one was heavy just as the last one was, but with a much different kind of weight. The marshal set both of his arms on the table and leaned forward, drawing his face in closer to the shining Beskar helmet now mere inches away from him.

“Suppose I’ll just have to find out for myself.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. It's long and it's very spicy. You have been warned.

In what felt like an instant, a haze, the sound of bottles and glasses clattering filled Cobb’s ears as his back hit the kitchen wall, two strong hands holding him in place by his hips. Mando was just the slightest bit taller than him, usually not noticeable, but now with his knees trying their best not to buckle he had to lift his chin to stare at where Mando’s eyes would be. His irises searched around, darting across the visor, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of some fiery, passionate gaze even past the glass.

He wanted that connection, that deeper lust in locking eyes, but without it bred a different sensation. Not a bad one, either. A feeling of excitement, fear, and willingness to embrace the unknown. He’d never felt anything like this before, and frankly, it was quite the rush. The adrenaline in his veins asked his heart to pound harder and for his breaths to push deeper, without a single word being spoken he could tell Mando knew exactly what he was invoking in the marshal. Had he done things like this before, or was this a hunter’s instinct? 

Cobb’s eyes stayed trained on Mando’s helmet, nearly hypnotized by the way the light reflected off his sleek Beskar mantle. Perhaps this was what the Mandalorian wanted, as the marshal didn’t notice one hand leave his hip even the slightest. A sudden, shocked gasp followed by a breathless moan erupted from Cobb as a palm pressed against the tent in his pants, shamelessly rubbing against his cock through his clothes in a way that proudly declared this faceless outlaw knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, marshal?” Mando asked, his voice low and gruff, almost a growl. The way he asked that question, perhaps it was with genuine, good intention, but that was muddied by the domineering presence Mando held. To Cobb, it sounded on par with asking if he was ready for a fight. A precursor to a threat. Maybe that wasn’t what it was meant to be and even Mando’s senses were getting clouded by carnal desire. 

Cobb shuffled a bit under his grasp, pushing his hips forward to grind himself into the palm of Mando’s hand. “Would’ve backed off already if I didn’t,” he murmured, his voice already succumbing to his hard, excited breathing, coming out quieter than he’d typically speak. “Don’t think I don’t know what I’m getting into,” the marshal said with a smirk on his face, lifting one arm to hook it around the back of Mando’s neck, reeling him in just a bit more. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t hold back.” 

A pause hung between them, Mando staring at the wild-eyed marshal as if sizing him up. All the while keeping his eyes on Cobb, Mando lifted a leg to gently tap the child’s carrier with his boot, casting it off into the living room. He took his hand off Cobb’s crotch but didn’t move it far, shifting to unbuckle his belt. Mando didn’t move his gaze even a bit, or so it seemed. Cobb could feel the blood rushing through him, cheeks burning and hands trembling, as the sound of his pants’ zipper met his ears. He held his breath as his pants and boxers, in the same swift motion, were shoved down his thighs. 

It almost felt wrong, being pinned to a wall and exposed in the middle of his kitchen. But, really, that just made it all the more exciting. Cobb wanted to look down at Mando’s hand, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. He could feel the outlaw’s eyes bearing down on him, he knew their eyes were locked. Like a predator keeping its prey frozen with an icy gaze. He heard fabric and metal shuffling again but didn’t feel anything being sloughed off himself, he wondered what that sound was, but it became clear in an instant as a bare, warm hand wrapped around the base of his cock. 

He shuddered and whimpered under the Mandalorian’s touch, not quite expecting the skin-to-skin contact. The arm wrapped around Mando’s back tightened, hand pressed against the back of his neck. Mando ran his hand up and down the shaft of Cobb’s throbbing member, a rhythm starting off slow and steady. It was only now their shared gaze broke, the marshal closing his eyes as his brows furrowed and teeth bit down on his lip to hold in a moan. Still, grunts and whines made it past his lips, all the while his hips mindlessly rutted into Mando’s hand. As his eyes stayed screwed shut, Mando sought to take advantage of the opportunity all too easily laid out before him. With the object of his lust angling his head up and back against the wall, throat exposed, Mando's unoccupied hand took what it wanted with no second thought. 

A firm grasp wrapped around the marshal's _unfortunately_ unmarked neck, fingertips squeezing against the sides of his throat but leaving the base of his palm cautiously pressed to his windpipe with no remarkable force. He wanted Cobb to struggle, to watch the air get caught in his throat, but not for him to see stars and drop to the floor. He wanted to bring this one in warm, as it were. A growl rumbled within the Mandalorian's broad chest, the thrill of watching the marshal gasp and squirm beneath his hand getting the better of him. Cobb could hear it only faintly, but more than that, he could feel it in the form of subtle vibrations. As Mando's other hand continued to stroke, faster now but still at a rather controlled pace, Cobb choked out moans and brought up one hand to claw at the gloved digits gripping his throat. As Mando's hold was challenged, he responded by promptly squeezing tighter. He let up in only the slightest as Cobb dropped his hand and choked out a loud, shaky whine. That was admittance, that was submission, and Cobb was rewarded for that.

The armored man watched his partner writhe under him, trapped within his hands, unable to keep still despite some small effort to hold his composure. He took note of the marshal grinding and bucking against his hand, yearning and begging for more. He watched the flushing of Cobb’s cheeks grow darker, his breathing grow heavier, and the trembling in his thighs grow harder. This man was practically desperate for more, and knowing that, Mando knew exactly what to do. Releasing the marshal's throat suddenly, Cobb gasped and lowered his head, sucking in hurried breaths. As he let Cobb take a moment to steady himself and get a little more oxygen to his brain, the hand stroking his length slowed. 

His eyes opened again and he stared at Mando with his brows low, frustrated and dazed. By now, his face was practically a vibrant pink as a byproduct of the chokehold and flustered blush intermingling. He stared forward at the powerful man keeping him pinned in his place, hips grinding and shifting with more urgency as he wordlessly asked for Mando's hands to resume their pleasant rhythm. “Thought… I asked you… Not to hold back,” he uttered between labored breaths.

Mando’s hand stopped moving, though Cobb remained in his grasp. “I’m not,” he said simply, voice still steady and calm as ever. It only frustrated the marshal more to hear how unaffected the Mandalorian still was while he was a whimpering mess. “Now ask for what you want.” 

There was a bit of shock and a touch of embarrassment in Cobb’s eyes, but the fire stayed alight. He swallowed nervously, perhaps throwing back his pride along with it, and drew in a shaky breath. “You really gonna make me sink that low, Mandalorian?” He challenged, speaking a little steadier but still in a rough, unsteady tone. 

Mando brought his face in closer, pressing his chest up against the marshal’s. He watched the hazel eyes before him try their best to dig into his own unwavering stare. “Ask. For. What. You. Want.” He repeated himself, this time in a deeper, more commanding, almost bone-chilling tone. His voice was quiet as he was so close to Cobb and somehow so loud in his ears. 

Cobb went silent, the only sound coming from his mouth being his still heavy breathing. He tried his best to stay still, though he was certain Mando could feel his hips and legs shifting. “I… You’re a bastard, you know,” he snapped back, practically a hiss, before sucking in another breath to say, “Fine… Fine.” He sounded so resigned in his surrender, even averting his eyes as he chose to submit. Though, he did bring his eyes back to the Mandalorian’s face soon enough. He wanted him to see his expression when he made his requests. “Show me how _merciless_ Mandalorians really are,” he uttered with a wry smirk sneaking onto his face, “Take what you want. Touch what you want. Take out all that tension and anger I know is buildin’ underneath that armor…” His eyes darted down at Mando’s body and worked their way back up to his face, “Fuck me until I _can’t_ take anymore.”

To Cobb’s surprise and bitter frustration, Mando retracted his hand. Everything happened in a matter of moments, but it felt like an eternity of not being touched. The outlaw moved both hands to Cobb’s waist, pulling him with little effort away from the wall. He took both of them a step backward, the marshal staring at him wide-eyed and confused, but quickly he turned Cobb’s back to face him. Then, he coiled one hand around one of Cobb’s wrists, the other moving to press against the small of his back, and effortlessly shoved him down against his kitchen table. He heard Cobb grunt as his chest hit the cool stone surface with a thud, all the while using his unrestrained hand to brace himself. 

Mando kept a tight grip on Cobb’s wrist, more than enough to bruise, moving to hold it against his back as an added weight to keep him obediently in place. Mando’s other hand didn’t make a move to touch Cobb, rather, Cobb heard the sound of a belt buckle unlatching and armor clattering against the floor. He held his breath, squirmed under Mando’s grasp as he lay against the table. Unable to maintain his composure anymore, whimpers and gasps freely escaped his lungs as he waited. 

Finally, the Mandalorian’s other hand came down on the small of Cobb’s back. He heard a faint, pleased murmur from the quiet outlaw as Mando ran his bare hand over Cobb’s exposed lower half. He took a moment to reach under Cobb and grab one side of his hips, using it like a handle to adjust his position, guiding him a little closer to the end of the table. Then, that hand left again, off to fulfill another duty. It was only a moment before he felt warmth once again pressed up against him, only of a different kind. 

His body twitched and he moaned just out of anticipation as Mando’s cock pressed against him, grinding on him in the most horribly teasing way. Mando could see how heavy the poor marshal’s breathing had become, feel the shaking rattling through his body. He pressed his own thumb against the head of his length to push it flush up against Cobb’s hole. Another noisy whimper came from the man as he did so. 

He left his cock teasingly waiting at his partner’s entrance as he removed his hand and reached it around Cobb’s face, palm laid out flat and open. “Spit in it.”

Cobb grunted and tried to look over his shoulder at Mando, “What?” He huffed. 

“Spit in it. Unless you _really_ want this to hurt.” Shamefully, averting his eyes and looking to the hand in front of him, Cobb did as he was told and spit into Mando’s hand. “I told you, the helmet doesn’t come off. For anything.” Cobb scoffed at that comment all the while Mando returned his hand to its previous place, though he reeled back his member a moment to push two wet, hot fingers into Cobb. He felt the man jolt, heard the surprised yelp, but along with that heard the pleased sigh that followed. Mando pulled out his two digits and grabbed the base of his cock, positioning it against a ready, awaiting, obedient body.

Slowly at first, aware of his own size, Mando eased his pelvis forward. Warmth and tightness enveloped his cock, a deep groan leaving his own mouth. All the while, Cobb’s free hand went to clench against the stone table below it, nails scraping against the surface. The marshal winced, holding his breath for the moment, muscles tightening at the initial pain.

Mando removed his hand from his shaft as it was buried just deep enough not to need guidance, instead grabbing onto one of Cobb’s shoulders. He could feel the sudden stillness in Cobb from him keeping the air trapped in his lungs. He felt the marshal was ready enough. He knew what was coming. With a pull of Cobb’s shoulder toward him, and a relentless thrust forward of his own hips, Mando pushed the full length of his member into Cobb, filling him to his brim. 

Finally, a loud and unrestrained moan came from Cobb, not an ounce of pride or shame left to speak of. “Fuck.. fuck…” He whimpered, voice loud and shaky. Mando moved both hands to Cobb’s waist, grabbing on and using his newly claimed prey’s body along with his own thrusts to ram himself deep inside the marshal, over and over again. He quickly brought himself up to a fast, consistent rhythm, the sound of their skin colliding echoing through the kitchen. Though, that sound was all but drowned out by the near constant moans and whimpers from the man beneath Mando. 

Now with his hands free, the marshal reached one hand back and under himself to grasp his own throbbing cock, stroking it at a pace that matched Mando’s thrusts. Reveling in watching the way Cobb succumbed so easily to his touch, Mando noticed that wandering hand. He felt as if his blood pumped harder and hotter as he watched his prey pleasure himself, a fluttering sensation rushing through his head. Without noticing, his hands clenched tighter to Cobb’s waist and his hips bucked harder. He only became aware once he heard the lustful cry it beckoned out of Cobb. 

As the Mandalorian mercilessly overtook his eager submissive, grunts and deep breaths became audible from within the helmet. With desire for the man willingly at his mercy growing more and more intoxicating with each desperate whimper, his own restraint and controlled demeanor crumbled like the sandy earth had in the krayt dragon’s wake. There was little rational, composed thought left to speak of, only instinctual lust too potent to ignore. There were no plans running through his head, no strategies, no clever observations. There was his body and there was the marshal’s body beneath him, and at least for the moment, that was all that mattered. 

Mando leaned in closer, taking one hand off the marshal’s hip and placing it on his shoulder, pressing his elbow against Cobb’s back as if to anchor himself. He buried himself deep inside Cobb and left his length fully sheathed, grinding against his ass. Closer to his ear than before, Cobb heard Mando’s low moan and repeating grunts. This wasn’t _just_ a show of dominance and power from the Mandalorian, and this was more than _just_ using the marshal’s body as a vessel for pent-up frustration. There was something else behind how his hands held tightly onto Cobb’s body, how hungrily his hips rutted against him. The loss of rational thought and restraint wasn't as simple as lust born of frustration.

The Mandalorian surely knew he had more than enough strength and willpower to take what he wanted without asking, without precaution, without easing himself in gently before thrusting hard and fast. There had to be _something_ else tucked away within that hard exterior that even now, with Mando’s inhibitions and rational thought fading as endorphins flooded his brain, he still had the slightest amount of consideration in how he treated Cobb’s body. 

Cobb glanced over his shoulder as he felt Mando’s hips slow, twitching member still within him to its hilt. A part of him was still expecting to see an expression as he looked behind him, a set of eyes from which he could read emotions, though of course, he was met with that shining metal helmet. Despite that, he saw Mando’s chin tilt up, as if he’d caught the man’s gaze. Cobb could see Mando’s shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths, his relentless and excited thrusts clearly took a great deal of energy. Truth be told, Cobb felt quite nice to see the Mandalorian so enthusiastic to use his body. 

Mando’s head angled back down, a deep sigh crossed his lips and his shoulders sunk to a low, relaxed position. The hand on Cobb’s shoulder loosened its grip, slowly tracing the musculature of Cobb’s back down to his rear. His breaths were still lengthy, but not as labored. “Hmm…” The Mandalorian murmured as his ungloved hand continued to feel along Cobb’s pale skin, fingertips ghosting along the line of his spine or the fading shapes of scars. Then, with what felt like little to no prompt, Mando pulled out completely. Cobb whimpered and shivered at the sensation, sighing with what could very well be dismay as he was now empty. He tried again to catch the Mandalorian’s gaze, at a loss for what he might be doing.

Both of Mando’s hands went to reside on either side of Cobb, palms pressed flat against the table. “Flip over,” he grunted. Cobb remained still for a moment longer, taken aback by his request, but nevertheless he obliged. He groaned and exhaled sharply as he rolled himself onto his back and shuffled further onto the table as to keep his body properly supported. Now, lying like this, Cobb propped up at a slight angle as he leaned his weight on his elbows, the two men had little other option than to stare at each other’s faces, eyes meeting whether or not Cobb could see the gaze he was matching. Cobb cleared his throat and averted his eyes, brows furrowed low as a distinct pinkish blush bloomed on his cheeks. 

“No, look at me,” Mando spoke up in that same commanding, apathetic sounding tone he always had, reaching out a hand to gently grab Cobb’s chin and turn his head to face him straight-on. “I want you to look at me.” The way those words came out, they could easily be a threat or a means to assert overbearing dominance, but… There was something Cobb would unfortunately never be able to understand without seeing the face beneath the helmet. Something more rode along those words, but the mystique of the darkened visor kept Mando safely hidden behind a wall. 

The marshal felt as if he forgot how to breathe for a moment as the Mandalorian gently held his face, locking him in place. He felt as if his tensed muscles had all but melted away. Abruptly, Mando’s hand released, but Cobb’s face remained where it was positioned as he was likely expected to do. Mando’s chest expanded and fell with a heavy sigh, he lingered there simply watching the marshal for some time longer. Could’ve been hardly a handful of moments, could’ve been minutes, everything felt like a thick and hazy blur underneath the gaze of the Beskar-clad hunter. 

Soon enough, though, Mando brought himself in closer and placed one hand on Cobb’s hip, the other on the inside of one thigh. Gently, he pushed the thigh outward, opening his partner’s legs further. The quiet, soft moan beckoned forth from the marshal brought in return a deep exhale from the Mandalorian; a pleased murmur. The hand on Cobb’s thigh released, went to guide Mando’s cock back to its mark. He pushed in slowly, easing each inch of his thick shaft at the same steady pace. Cobb bit down on his lip and groaned, breaths thereafter coming out as flustered huffs. His expression didn’t quite read pain this time, only absolute bliss. 

Mando let out a moan riding along a sigh as he sank every inch of himself into the man within his grasp. The hand that’d helped guide him there didn’t move too far away as he went to wrap his palm around Cobb’s erection. He felt the cock twitch in his hand, eager and begging for release by now. As he began to move his hips forward and back, his hand stroked Cobb at a matching rhythm. He picked up a decent speed, enough to bounce the marshal’s body against the table, but nothing as relentlessly harsh as the bucking he demonstrated before. 

Though the marshal had specifically asked to be fucked senseless, used as an outlet for raw emotion, he didn’t protest the new approach. It was unexpected, but… Not unwanted. Feeling the other man’s hand running up the length of his cock while his own length filled him with warmth, it was nice. Despite being no closer than he was when he was lying stomach-down to the table, he _felt_ closer. He wanted to keep his eyes open, to hold Mando’s gaze for as long as he could manage, but evidently his eyes closed and body tensed as pleasure ravaged his body like electricity climbing up through his veins. 

“Nnh… Keep going…” Cobb muttered breathlessly, his own hips grinding upward into the hand pleasing him. “ _Please_ …” That word, something about the way it was spoken, the raw and unbridled desire and yearning- it struck a chord in Mando that he very damn well didn’t know was there. Mando, in quite the turn of events, did as _he_ was asked. His thrusts remained fast yet unaggressive, sliding in and out with ease, all the while his hand moved along Cobb’s cock faster. He felt the charming lawman beneath him tremble and twitch harder, jaw visibly shaking as pleasure bubbled up in him like a shaken bottle begging to be opened. 

Mando kept his fast rhythm unwaveringly consistent, knowing even the slightest pause now could derail Cobb. He wanted to see him reach his climax lying beneath him with his flushed face in plain view, body exposed and vulnerable to him. Mando’s own breathing grew louder and deeper, his own heart pounding in his chest. He felt a rush flood his body as a loud, liberating moan released from Cobb’s lungs. Mando spoke without second thought, “Look at me,” he commanded again, knowing he had but a moment. The marshal opened his hazel eyes and looked up at Mando just as his body stopped shaking all at once, cock twitching as cum spilled out onto Mando’s hand and onto his own stomach. 

He fell silent beyond his heavy breathing, mouth agape as his eyes stayed locked on Mando, captured once again in a gaze he could only imagine. Mando’s hand released his partner’s member now that he had finished, still thrusting himself into him as he neared his own climax. Now that his senses were cleared, desires fulfilled and head full of intoxicating bliss, he tuned into the motions and sounds of the mysterious Manadlorian. He noted the rapid breaths, the pace of his hips pushing into him picking up and becoming erratic. More than anything else, he noted that Mando’s face seemed to be angled right at his, assumedly staring at him. 

A low, snarling growl resonated in Mando’s chest as he watched Cobb’s eyes dart back and forth across his visor, searching for the exact position of his eyes. Eventually, Cobb’s eyes seemed to settle and stare confidently in what he thought was the right place, but he wasn’t matching his gaze. He was off by just the slightest bit, but it was just enough to prohibit any actual connection. Mando grunted and huffed, changing the angle of his head in a subtle, unnoticeable way in an effort to meet the marshal’s gaze. A fruitless effort, ultimately; how could you ever truly lock eyes with a pair you couldn’t see?

Mando’s hips bucked forward with an unexpected intensity, triggering a shocked yelp from Cobb, and he gripped his hand tightly to the marshal’s hip almost as if out of frustration. “Dammit,” he panted, _“Dammit,”_ he snapped louder, deeper. His hand let go of Cobb so that his open palm could slam down against the table, hard enough for the smack to echo throughout the room. 

Cobb continued to stare up at his counterpart as he looked down and shook his helmed head, heavy pants racketing his body. Mando went silent, though his seething frustration may as well have been audible given how pungent and piercing it was. Cobb could feel the raw emotion, the vexation, radiating off of him in waves. His fingers tapped against the surface of the table rapidly. Contemplative, impatient, wavering on the edge of an impulse. Beneath the deep exhales Mando tried to control by way of pushing them through his nose, Cobb could hear a quiet, wordless murmur of his voice.

Something was building in the Mandalorian, maybe it had been for some time. A frustration that sept out from between the cracks of his unbreakable will as he yearned for Cobb to meet his eyes straight-on. The marshal, not to his own knowledge, had failed every time he had tried thus far, even as far back as their first meeting. He thought he was meeting Mando's eyes, maybe he _did_ feel the connection as he simply imagined irises digging into him, but that was ultimately one-sided. No matter how close Cobb had gotten to true eye contact, there was always a barrier. There was no way there couldn't be a barrier for Mando.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, some of you may notice this chapter got updated this morning. It looks a little different, a tad shorter. That's just for pacing purposes-- nothing is actually getting changed, I just thought leaving it all in one chapter moved things along too fast.
> 
> There will be a 3rd chapter.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! My continued writing relies solely on you folks.<3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Okay, at this point we're taking a sharp right turn into AU territory.
> 
> If you're into that kinda thing, I hope ya stay on board, but if you'd prefer a nice and easy one-shot, go ahead and call this fic completed at Chapter 2. (I won't be offended, promise) 
> 
> I uh, I just get carried away really easily.

In a swift motion, what felt like a blur that couldn’t quite be real, Mando lifted a hand to grab the underside of his helmet. 

The loud clatter of metal colliding with the stone floors of the kitchen met the marshal’s ears, jolted him and sent a chill up his spine. The assaulting sound distracted him for but a moment, overwhelmed his senses, but as his eyes returned to focus he felt a fluttering in his stomach at the sight still centered in his gaze. 

Not the impersonal glint of a shining Beskar helmet and tinted glass visor, not the ghost of a gaze he knew was there but could not see. The face of a man, sweat glistening on his tan skin, damp hair clinging to his forehead, a pair of wide brown eyes staring him down. The marshal let out a long breath, emptying his lungs and staring up in a tremendous mix of shock and excitement. He felt as if his heartbeat stopped. No, he felt everything, the entire world around him, stop for a moment. Fuck, he was handsome. _Incredibly_ handsome. He had no idea what he had expected, but it wasn’t that. Knowing what he did about the Mandalorians and their code, the weight of that action rung loudly in his mind, making this meeting of eyes just that much sweeter. 

The marshal could feel the hot breaths colliding against his form now, goosebumps dotting his skin in response. They both remained still another moment, as if both in shock- even if Mando _had_ chosen to do that entirely of his own volition. Albeit, with a clouded mind, but how much did that really matter now?   
  
Mando took a deep breath and placed a hand against Cobb’s waist. “Look at me,” he murmured, softly and yet with so much more clarity without the helmet. “Really look at me.” With that, he resumed moving his hips, slowly at first. Soon enough, he picked up his pace to be just as fast as before, all the while now maintaining a real, _genuine_ connection with the marshal. Cobb gladly returned the gesture, so much so that a smile crept onto his face. 

He reached a hand up to run along the side of Mando’s cheek, feeling the stubble along his jaw bristle his fingertips. He felt a shiver run down his spine, something about just seeing something so forbidden and being so fucking _attracted_ to it was a high unlike any other. Mando’s eyes closed for just a moment and a sigh passed his lips as Cobb’s hand touched his face, a sense of yearning shining through his expression. Cobb wasn’t blind, and now in his clarity, he could see the desire in that man’s eyes. The want, the empty space wishing to be filled. There was a lot more than a relentless bounty hunter beneath that helmet, that much was clear. 

Mando’s breathing grew heavier and thrusts more erratic, seemingly pushing into his partner with a great deal more excitement now that he could really see him. Soon enough, a low groan began in his throat, and Mando reeled in as close as he could to Cobb, pressing their chests flush against each other and tucking his face into the crook of the other man’s neck. His body twitched and breath hitched as he finished while buried in his entirety inside Cobb, warmth spilling into and filling him. The marshal let out a pleased, gratified sigh and threw his arms around the back of Mando’s neck, holding him in as close as he was.

Mando remained pressed up against Cobb for some time, grunting and huffing with occasional twitches echoing through his body. Cobb could feel the heavy breaths against his neck, cascading across his collar bone and down his chest. Eventually, he moved one hand to press against the center of Mando’s chest, gently guiding him back. Mando didn’t resist, and as he reeled back, their eyes met again. For the first time, the Mandalorian smiled. Or, well, maybe he’d smiled before, likely he had, but it’d never been in plain view. A wide grin appeared on Cobb’s face to match. 

Silence lingered between them for a moment, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable or tense one. A comforting one, rather. Basking in a warm glow. Mando was ultimately the first to speak up. “Point me in the direction of your room, marshal,” he uttered, thereafter pulling out and hastily zipping his pants back up. Cobb followed suit. Then, he slid his hands underneath his companion, holding him around the small of his back. With seemingly no effort, Mando lifted him and Cobb responded accordingly by wrapping his legs around the Mandalorian’s waist. 

Face to face, noses nearly grazing against one another, Cobb stifled a chuckle and grinned. “Down the end of that hall and up the stairs,” he nodded his head toward the hall in question. “Try not to trip on your way.” 

On his way out of the kitchen, Mando took a hand off of Cobb’s body for just a moment as he picked his helmet up from where it’d been unceremoniously dropped. He hooked two fingers under the lip of the helm as to leave his palm open, soon returning it to help support the marshal’s weight in his arms. Mando navigated his way down the hall carefully, eyes struggling not to stay hypnotically trapped on the hazel irises so intently watching him. It seemed that Cobb’s eyes weren’t trying to peer into Mando’s gaze anymore, rather, they were darting across his face, admiring each feature he could finally see. The spark in his eyes was akin to gawking at a planet you’d never seen before, admiring fresh and new sights with unbridled enthusiasm. 

The marshal wore a wide smile on his face all the while. His brows were low, relaxed, and his eyes were half-lidded as a sort of peaceful bliss washed over him. Admittedly, he was rather tuckered out. Their day had been long even outside of indulging in one another’s bodies. Pressed up against Mando, his muscles were at ease, body softening into the strong outlaw’s embrace.

Well, aside from his legs. His thighs remained stiff as he held tightly onto the Mandalorian’s waist. Once Mando reached the stairs, he hesitated a moment, drew in a breath that Cobb could feel as his expanded chest pushed up against him. 

Cobb scoffed as he noticed the moment of pause. “You know, you’re not _obligated_ to carry me, Jedi,” he drawled, brandishing the name of force-wielding peacekeepers as a slur, garnering a brief glance and quirked brow from Mando. “Can’t say I expected a broken ankle of all things to make ya nervous, though.” 

The strong arms holding him up adjusted, jostling the marshal a bit as he steadied his broad hands. Cobb’s silvery, peppered hair fell over his forehead with the shuffling, quickly slicked back by a hand. The strands of hair seemed to stay obediently in place, still damp with sweat. Mando watched this, distracted for a moment before he spoke, “It doesn’t,” he responded curtly, “Dropping the town marshal down a staircase in his own home does.” 

Cobb snorted and let out a full-fledged chuckle, throwing his head backward with eyes closed as his chest bounced along with his laughter. He let out a whimsical sigh as he lowered his head back down, “Okay, you do have a point,” he muttered, “You’d get a shallow grave out of that, I won’t lie. Just… don’t put it to chance then. Set me down.” 

“That’s the easy way out,” he responded almost instantly. There was something almost comedic to how even with a visible, emotion-baring human face, he was still so monotone. His tone was still consistent and unreadable. “I don’t usually take the easy way out.” 

The persistence, the stubbornness, the dry humor… This man was infuriating in the most charming way. Cobb let out an audible huff, a cue to let Mando know he’d won and had gotten his way. Mando broke his eyes away from the marshal’s to look up the staircase and begin taking steps forward, wobbling a bit as soon as the first raised platform was beneath his boot. Quickly though, he corrected himself, setting into the sensation of walking upward with weight in his arms and a massive blind spot in the space Cobb’s head occupied. 

Cobb held his breath in his chest every time Mando teetered as he landed a footfall awkwardly, nearly missing his mark entirely a handful of times. The thought of actually being dropped down a staircase actively drummed in his mind. He might not have thought about that possibility so much if Mando hadn’t mentioned it... This anxiety, undoubtedly, was the fault of the Mandalorian. _Undoubtedly._ Soon enough though, and to his relief, the pair reached the second story of the marshal’s humble home. 

Even Mando let out a little sigh as they reached the top. He adjusted the marshal in his arms again, having let his body sink a bit as they marched upward. “Alright,” he began, eyes casting down the dim hallway in front of them. He noted two closed doors on either side of the hall and a wide archway at the very far side, double doors rounded on their outer edge to fit the home’s architecture guarding the room beyond. “I wager the big room would be yours.” He pivoted his gaze to look at the marshal. “Right?” 

Cobb drew in a deep inhale, feeling that harmless tease crawl right underneath his skin. “Mhm. Right. Just keep marching, Mandalorian.” 

“Don’t push your luck with that tone,” Mando quipped back, though he obliged and proceeded to the double doors at the end of the hall. Once standing in front them, he lifted one foot off the ground to tap the toe of his boot to the handle, pressing it down just enough to coax the door open, even if only just a sliver. As his heavy boot slid off the handle, it snapped back into its at-rest position with the resounding sound of vibrating metal. 

With the door unlatched, he pressed his shoulder into the wooden frame to guide it further open. As he crossed the threshold into Cobb’s unlit room, he again lifted a boot, this time to kick the door shut. Even in the dark, the light from Tatooine’s three moons hanging in the cloudless sky illuminated the interior from outside a window making up a portion of the bedroom’s farside wall. Mando’s eyes cast to the pale ambery light, pausing a moment as he just… took it in. It was a nice sight. Beautiful. Different with the helmet off, the visor away from his eyes. Whether it was better or worse was uncertain, blurry, as an unease settled in the pit of the Mandalorian’s gut; he was reminded of the helmet’s absence.

He snapped his eyes away from the sight of the moons beyond the bedroom window. Cobb noticed an unusually sharp exhale push out of Mando’s lungs, but thought little of it. Mando looked to the bed up against the wall, beneath the windowsill. The blankets and sheets were still tossed asunder, left unattended since the marshal had left the morning prior. A bottle of some locally bottled booze and an empty glass sat on the nightstand closeby. Assumedly, he wasn’t expecting visitors. Hours earlier, he said he rarely did. At least he was an honest lawman. 

A gravely, throaty exhale resonated within Mando’s lungs as his shoulders slouched, the exhaustion of the day finally bearing down on him as he took slow strides closer to the bed. At the foot of the bed, he tightened his grip on Cobb for a moment, then promptly dropped his form onto the mattress. He bounced against the soft surface, old springs crying out beneath him. Bright hazel eyes looked up at him, expectantly. 

“Phewf! Tossed down like a sack of Hubba gourd then, huh?” He prodded, sitting up on his disheveled bed as he went to remove his socks, tossing them carelessly to the side of his room. His eyes fixed themselves on Mando as he then went to slough off his already half-unzipped pants, trying to read the man’s expression as he stood silently, deep brows eyes slowly wandering the expanse of Cobb’s body as he undressed. Though the gawking was flattering, there was something else in his eyes. Something that reminded Cobb of the Mandalorian’s shrouded helmet, if anything; a cloudiness, a barrier. 

Cobb quirked a brow just as he lifted his dusty, faded red shirt over his head and cast it aside. The naked form beneath was pale, rugged with scars, muscles toned and strong albeit along a narrower frame than that of his counterpart. Hair of the same gray tone as his wiry beard peppered his sculpted chest. He was a fine sight to behold, especially with the light of the moons washing over him. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet this late in the game ,” the marshal uttered, scooting himself backward until his shoulder blades made contact with the backrest of his bed.

By this point, it was becoming odd how quiet and distant Mando seemed. The change appeared unprompted and sudden. The fogginess to his eyes felt as if it had appeared in a blink of Cobb’s eyes. 

Cobb watched with bated breath as Mando looked down and away from his partner’s exposed form, to the helmet still dangling just barely from his fingertips. He brought it up to be grasped between both hands, all of his digits pressing firmly up against the Beskar. His thumb ran across a swatch of dust that’d clung onto the helmet, a consequence of being thrown against a sediment floor. The tension could be felt from the other side of the bed like a rope being pulled taught between them. Mando’s fingers squeezed tighter, nails scraping the grain of the metal. 

“Mando?” He beckoned, though to no avail. He saw the Mandalorian’s shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath, though he could barely hear it. Maybe that was on account of the noise in his own head, the bloodrush of anxiety beginning to swell. 

Keeping his eyes angled down and locked on his shining helmet, Mando finally spoke, “You know what this meant, right?” He asked, voice solid, quiet, and with a bite he hadn’t heard since Mando first threatened his life back in the cantina. 

Cobb hesitated, stuttering out a string of sounds that failed to come together as coherent words. He cleared his throat audibly, staring at Mando though he didn’t realize his stuck gaze. “I, well… I mean… Means you put that helmet back on and we don’t let it leave this house. I’m not gonna speak of this, you know, I felt like that was implicit.” His voice started out uneasy, but as his words flowed from his mouth, his tone smoothed out into something better reinforced with self-assuredness. 

Still, the Mandalorian’s head remained angled down, though Cobb could see his eyes shut momentarily and brows furrow tightly. He looked like he’d been stuck with a needle, then quickly returning to his previous empty stare. “No,” he choked out first, that single word snapping out firmly. “It doesn’t mean that. I didn’t expect you to know, even if you _did_ wear the armor.” He exhaled sharply. “I know you did it to survive. I know you didn’t adhere to what it meant.” Those words almost sounded like a poorly constructed, makeshift apology as he perhaps became aware of his own scathing resentment.

Cobb had no idea what he was meant to say. Somehow, even with only minor shifts in Mando’s ever consistent tone, his words cut deep. This intensity, the bitterness bubbling up inside of him, came across as unexpected to the marshal. He took it upon himself as his own failure to have been so clouded by their indulgence in carnal desires as not to realize the real magnitude of Mando’s impulsive, lust-guided decision. 

But now, although horribly delayed, it was weighing on him. Mando had made a _mistake._ A horrible one. One that he was clearly suffering from already. “Look, Mando…” The marshal began softly, reaching out a hand in the Mandalorian’s direction. “After you and me kill that krayt dragon and you leave, this goes away. We forget about it and you keep your pact. Never come back to this town, never see my face again. _Leave it here,_ in this room.”  
  
“It’s not that simple, Marshal,” Mando’s hands jerked as they held onto the helmet, as if his muscles tightened and thrashed with frustration. “There’s no coming back from this, even if it was just you. That’s what you aren’t understanding. _This_ was unforgivable.” 

Now, finally, Mando took a step forward toward the bed, turning at an angle to slowly sit on the edge of the mattress. His shoulders were slouched limply, eyes and hands still bound to his helmet as he propped it up against one of his knees. Chest aching as he watched Mando’s changed, defeated demeanor, he crawled down the bed to sit closer to his newfound companion; an armslength apart. Mando didn’t seem to react to his closeness, hardly registering it at all. 

After a moment of contemplative silence, Mando spoke again. “You’ve seen my face, and even if I’m the only one of us- _them-_ who knows, I’m not a part of my creed anymore. It doesn’t matter, I broke my loyalty, and just for—“ He stopped himself and let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head and glancing up at Cobb’s face for only a fleeting moment. Their eyes didn’t quite meet, as if Mando had hesitated and reigned himself in at the last second.

The man beside him lowered his brows, pursing his lips. “And just for _what_?” He asked with a bitter scoff, well aware of what he was about to call a shallow mistake. “Huh— That’s quite the fragile condition of loyalty for a tribe of warriors,” he murmured, a seething growl in his voice as his sympathy took a sudden dip into irritability. The way Mando expressed his shame in himself was turning into a double-edged sword, wrenching itself into both of their guts. 

Mando didn’t utter another word, or at least, he didn’t do so fast enough. Cobb was getting sick of the long pauses between them, the building tension and pressure. “If it’s over, fuck it, it’s over,” he hissed, throwing a hand up in an exasperated gesture. Mando looked up to try to catch Cobb’s eyes, of all things, though by now his gaze had broken away from Mando and was staring seemingly at nothing, through the wall ahead of him. “I can’t say I understand why showing your face to the stranger you fucked on a whim for a single night has to dismantle your entire way of life, but…” he huffed, “Well, I’m not you. Maybe it ain’t my place to understand.”

After the final word of that weighted statement crossed Cobb’s mouth, his cold gaze finally came back to look at Mando, matching his stare at long last as the former Mandalorian’s brown irises had fully freed themselves from the shiny armor in his lap. The two men fell silent, hurt and frustration visible on both of their faces, manifesting and festering differently for each. Their eyes burrowed deep into one another, sitting mere inches apart, the room around them dissolving and leaving nothing but one another’s faces in focus. For Mando especially, as it felt as if his world was crumbling and shrinking into this tiny, dusty room. Everything he had lived for was splitting at the seams because of a split-second decision.

Without either realizing, they’d drifted closer as they shared melancholic eye contact. What was an armslength became hardly a hand’s width apart, warm breaths from either man filling the remaining gap between them. Cobb’s heart pounded within his bare chest, nervous energy thrumming in his body like a kyber crystal resonating in the hilt of a newly build saber. He could sense Mando’s hurried, anxious heartbeat matching his although he couldn’t hear nor feel it. Just.. Through the exacerbated anxiety in his eyes, the parted lips as he breathed, he knew. 

The pair remained as they were for some time, voices becoming lost in their tired lungs. The shielded haze over Mando’s eyes had dissipated, though it stung to see the pain shining through, clear as the moons in the night sky outside. Cobb heard his own words and Mando’s loop over and over in his head, milling through the deeper connotations and implications. Maybe Mando was doing the same. 

Likely, he was, as in the same motion of Cobb slinking his hand across the cool bedsheets toward Mando’s hand, the fingers he reached for readily interlocked with his. He was surprised to feel the gesture returned at all. Cobb had some inkling Mando may entirely reject any invitation to come closer, any form of touch. But, no, contrary to his own assumptions of the stoic man, Mando seemed to leap at the extended offer. Whatever walls he had, they were breaking down, whether that be for better or for worse.

“Maybe…” Cobb began speaking, quietly and softly, with a newly adopted tone fostering gentleness, “Maybe we get some rest. You’re on a path to destroy yourself keeping up this conversation,” he murmured. Mando closed his eyes a moment, tightening his grasp on Cobb’s hand. His only companion in this cataclysm of his own world retorted with a reassuring, reciprocated squeeze. 

Mando slowly turned to look back down at the cold metal reminder of his lapsed judgement sitting in his lap. He let out a long, silent sigh, and used his free hand to gently set the helmet down on the floor beside Cobb’s bed. He stared at it there in its new place for a moment longer, some uncertainty in his saddened gaze. 

“I think you might be right.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it was AU matieral & that I got carried away.


End file.
